


even space

by firelordazulas



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/F, based during 3x06, kara says frak much less than youd expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelordazulas/pseuds/firelordazulas
Summary: Kara gets her the godsdamned arrow. She gets Roslin her prophecy, and her dead Admiral, and she kills Cylon after frackking Cylon for her. Madame President is the cause of her anger and the cause of her wounds, and still Kara gives her life for Laura, over and over again without a moment’s hesitation. She rationalises it to herself: that she’s just taking orders, that it takes the responsibility away from herself, that she doesn’t care about Roslin enough to disobey her orders, but Laura corrodes her way into Kara’s every waking moment. She thinks of the President more or less constantly. She thinks of what she might be wearing, of how she might be feeling, of that soft smile Laura sends Kara’s way whenever she’s managed to do something good…
Relationships: Laura Roslin/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	even space

**Author's Note:**

> this is set vaguely during 3x06 - some of the things from the episode happen but like, differently, but also i ignore a lot of the boring unimportant parts of canon  
> title from begging for thread - banks

This Roslin is just a little bit too hard, a little bit too determined; a little bit too deadly. There’s too much of that heat in her gaze when she looks; and boy, does she look, at Lee Adama and Bill Adama, at Tory and Maia, and perhaps, most importantly, right through to where Kara’s fragile soul sits. 

This Laura Roslin takes to the role of president a little too well, a little too shamelessly, a little too selfishly. There’s still that desperate morality, but, like all of them, a hero complex in there; a superiority. A belief that she is the only one who can save the whole of the human race. 

This Laura sees opportunities and she takes them. She takes and takes and takes, wherever she can, from whoever she can. And there’s this quality about this Laura; her disciples give and give of themselves without a thought. She asks and they give. She looks, and they open like flowers, let her drink them all up - and Kara is no different.

Kara gets her the godsdamned arrow. She gets Roslin her prophecy, and her dead Admiral, and she kills Cylon after frackking Cylon for her. Kara refers to the President primarily as “that bitch,” (or so she likes to think; in the deep of sleep and those hours between sleep and waking, or even when she’s just so tired she could drop, Roslin becomes Laura. Kara thinks of her sleepy eyes, or her rumpled shirts, of her hair up in messy buns -) it’s become a bit of a coping mechanism, having someone to blame for this and for that, for her poor performance and her temper tantrums and everything else she doesn’t want to take responsibility for. Roslin is tangentially responsible for her cheating (if Roslin didn’t exist, Kara wouldn’t be so godsdamned wound up all the time -), for her drinking, for her gambling. Madame President is the cause of her anger and the cause of her wounds, and still Kara gives her life for Laura, over and over again without a moment’s hesitation. She rationalises it to herself: that she’s just taking orders, that it takes the responsibility away from herself, that she doesn’t care about Roslin enough to disobey her orders, but Laura corrodes her way into Kara’s every waking moment. She thinks of the President more or less constantly. She thinks of what she might be wearing, of how she might be feeling, of that soft smile Laura sends Kara’s way whenever she’s managed to do something good… 

Kara’s old enough to admit that she might just be desperate for Roslin’s approval. Maybe. She knows she has that need to prove herself; she always has (just another thing that can be traced back to her mother), it goes hand in hand with her acting out for attention, and god isn’t she just a psychologists wet dream - but the point is, Roslin makes her desperate in a way she can’t afford, not when it’s the end of the world. It’s the end of the world, and Kara is already juggling and ignoring both Sam and Lee, and she can’t keep doing this to herself or them. Until Laura cocks her head in that way, smiles just for Kara, and she’s gone again.

Not that anything inappropriate has happened between her and Madame President (minus the murder), of course. Roslin would never lower herself to sleep with someone like Kara. Kara knows what girls like her good for, and it’s not love; it’s for a messy frak, and Roslin can’t even give her that. She’s seen Roslin look. Kara’s seen Laura look at everyone, from the navy to the consulate. It’s a power she wields - just as she cocks her head for Kara, she licks her lips for both Adamas, she tosses her hair for Tori - it’s like she can’t help but try and draw everyone into her orbit, and damn but if it doesn’t work. She holds them all like puppets on strings, and Kara can’t help but want to expose herself for Roslin, to make herself vulnerable and pliable and available. Kara makes up for it by being rude, by ignoring the President, by always calling her ma’am and constantly making little quips that would make any other commander blush or yell or at least react - but Laura just gives her this look, like she can see through what Kara is doing, and either ignores her behaviour or makes it extremely obvious that she doesn’t care. It doesn’t help that Roslin apparently finds Kara’s little quips about the crew and the admiralty hilarious - they share the same kind of biting, sarcastic humour. What begins as a way to get back at Roslin becomes another thing for her benefit. Kara fights to see her smile at least once every time she walks past her in the corridors of the Galactica, or whenever Roslin calls her to Colonial One for some kind of under the table objective. Roslin worms her way past all of Kara’s defensive mechanisms until she’s left with nothing but an earnest feeling of what could be admiration, could be trust, mixed with a wanting - and Kara’s not dumb, she knows she desperately wants to frak Roslin, it’s been obvious from the first time the President wore a pencil skirt and looked at Kara over the top of her glasses like some kind of terrible librarian fantasy cliché - but she’s off limits, and the way that it clouds Kara’s ability to see Roslin with any kind of objectivity is a problem. It’s a problem that could get them all killed. Kara’s not surprised that her inability to keep it in her pants could spell the end of humanity, but she’s gotta admit that she was kinda hoping when the stakes were this high she’d unexpectedly pull through. 

Roslin is always waiting for Kara whenever she comes back from an important mission. She stands slightly off to the side, looking all official and important, ready to welcome the raptors back from a skirmish, but Kara has noticed she only does this for her - not even Apollo gets the honour of Madame President’s official welcome home. 

It always makes Kara think of the bubbly and giggly Roslin that had pretended to smash champagne on the side of the Blackbird. Every time she sees Laura on the deck, glasses on, pencil skirt perfectly in place, she thinks of that slightly messier iteration of Laura, the one that made an appearance at celebrations of all times. For someone who seems to be a bit of a control freak, Roslin always gets a little bit too tipsy at official events. She always disappears, is a bit inappropriate with certain individuals (the Adamas, mostly) as if she just can’t help herself from that small amount of excess. And, of course, Kara can’t exactly hold that against her; at every single opportunity the great Starbuck has been known to get blind drunk and threaten to fight and frak pretty much everyone in her eye-line. It makes Kara wonder about Madame President’s need to unwind, and if she could be convinced to partake in a bit of relaxation and chill time if Kara introduced the right conditions. 

This time, when Kara rolls her raptor onto the deck, she’s got some of the higher quality moonshine stashed under her seat with two glasses. She was careful to tie them down properly, of course; Kara was nothing if not a responsible flier. Hopefully, she can charm Madame President into having a drink with her. Maybe more than one. Kara doesn’t know exactly what she wants to get out of this, because of course she wants something; maybe it’s just for the opportunity to see Roslin’s shoulders a little bit less round her ears, or to see her slightly messy and open in a way Kara rarely gets to see. Usually, the tipsy, messy Laura is reserved for the Adamas, but Kara is desperate to claim a little bit of her for herself. 

She’s pretending to herself it’s a power move. She’s pretending it’s not because Kara’s kind of in love with the way Roslin’s eyes crinkle, with the softness that accompanies Roslin’s speech when Kara’s done something good. There’s something in her eyes that twinkles. Gods, is Kara a walking cliché, and Gods if she doesn’t feel pathetic, but the opportunity to do something a little bit nice, a little bit risky, a little bit charming… It doesn’t come everyday. It’s the end of the godsdamned frakking world; Kara should be able to offer a pretty lady a drink every now and then. 

  
  


Kara hops out the Viper and sidles over to where President Roslin is standing out of the way on the flight deck, keeping her hands to herself and almost achieving a very proper, presidential look.

“I know you’re probably used to better, but this is the Galactica’s very own best brew; this is the Starbuck of moonshines, and I think you could do with a taste.”

Kara had been rehearsing this moment ever since she had woken up this morning, and that definitely wasn’t the best line she’d ever come up, but she had to roll with it now. Improvisation was one of her talents after all. Kara produced two glasses from behind her back, and a bottle of suspicious origin. She watched Roslin eye it. Hopefully, the reckless side of Laura, the side Kara had watched her tamp down on again and again, every time Kara flirted just a little bit too hard to get a reaction, would win out in this instance. 

Before Kara could be refused, she pulled the cork out the bottle with her teeth, spitting it to the deck off to the left of the two of them. A dab hand with liquor, Kara poured out three fingers with a splash, both glasses held in her other hand. She proffered one. “Madame President.” It came out as statement, invitation, challenge. Kara quirked an eyebrow: definitely a challenge. Definitely a flirtation. 

Laura cocked her head, smirked. “Kara.” She slowly took the glass. “Am I always going to be treated to questionable alcohol on your successful return?”

“Only if you promise to drink it.” Kara raised her own glass to her lips, eyes locked on Roslin’s. The sip she took hid her smirk. “Although, if you want this treatment every time, I’ll need you to slide me some smokes; I’m running out of tradable items.”

Laura hummed in thought, tilting her glass. The smoky grey of it slowly rolled up and down the sides, mimicking bourbon badly. 

“What’s in it?”

“You don’t wanna know. Come on, ma’am, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Dead, along with most of humanity.”

Kara huffed, rolled her eyes. “Now’s the best time to live on the edge; who knows how long we’re gonna live anyway? Might as well have a good time while we’re clinging on.”

“What if I want to live?”

“Pssh, that’s not living; that’s surviving. And there’s no fun in just surviving. Or, at least, that’s what my more philosophical cadets tell me, anyway.”

“You don’t believe in your own survival?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe; it’s just that I don’t care. I’m out here for a good time, not a long time. And if we’re frakked anyway, might as well get in some good frakking before it all comes down round our heads, hmm?” 

“Frakking? You think there’s going to be frakking?”

“Up to you, _ma’am_ ; you know I’m up for anything.”

Laura held Kara’s eyes as she took her first, careful sip. Her eyes narrowed as she took another. “Not quite as petrol-like as I had assumed it would be.”

“Told you it was actually pretty good.” Kara smiled, with that kind of childlike innocence of doing good, of getting a question right on a quiz, of making someone happy. She tried to hide her smile behind her glass again, playing it off as smug. It always made Kara wonder if Laura knew how she was feeling in that moment; if any of the people in her life actually knew how she felt. 

“You wanna take this party back to Colonial One with me?” There was something measured in Laura’s tone, as if it were a test - Kara knew she had to keep the President guessing.

“Awh, I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t - I have an early shift tomorrow. But I’d love to do this again, sometime soon? And you’re welcome to take the bottle with you.”

“A souvenir?”

“Something to remember me by.”

“You’re hardly easy to forget.”

While everything else is spinning out around Kara, getting worse and worse by the minute, Madame President keeps showing up with a bottle or some smokes, sharing little pockets of time with Kara. Starbuck hoards these small amounts of time, selfishly keeping Laura to herself, replaying the memories to herself in her bunk, during boring briefing and training sessions. She doesn’t know why the Prez keeps seeking her out. Well, she thinks it might have to do with the long, trailing gazes Laura no longer even attempts to hide. Kara doesn’t think she’s kidding herself when she sees Roslin looking. They both know of the attraction between them, as Kara flirts outrageously but declines all offers to join Roslin on Colonial One. They both know why Laura keeps inviting Kara to join her, and it’s not to talk. Why does Kara always turn her down? It’s the power play of it all; Kara thinks once Roslin stops offering, that’s when she’ll finally want to say yes.

  
  
Roslin is there as Kara crash lands onto the landing deck of Galactica. Of course she’s there, she always is for Kara’s training runs, when Kara is usually returning to the high fives and admiration of her cadets. It’s embarrassing in a lot of ways, for her to be there while Kara’s spinning out of control; she can feel the heat coming to her cheeks, as she just breathes through her nose in the pause of silence in her Viper, before she has to climb out and face the scorn and anger of her compatriots. She’s used to being hated. All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again, after all; being loved never lasts, but being hated is eternal. Madame President must know something about that.

Lee is there, too, of course, waiting to yell at her. The President watches, silently, as he tears into Kara. She’s interested, clearly; Kara can tell from the little angle her head is at, like she’s listening particularly hard.

When Lee is done, Kara wonders over to Roslin, quip at the ready. “Enjoy the show, did you?”

 _“Do_ you have a death wish? Just out of interest, so I know if I should stop bothering to visit.”

“Not that I’m aware of, no.” Roslin’s gaze takes on an understanding tone, and Kara huffs before she’s even started speaking. “Don’t say it.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“Yes! Frak, if I wanted to die I’d just take a walk into space. Now, Ms President, if you would excuse me, I need to go drink myself into oblivion. I’ll see you later.” She saluted, sarcastically as usual, but refused to meet Roslin’s eyes.

“You know where I am if you need me.”

Again, Laura offers Kara her undivided attention, and Kara rebuffs her. At this point, she’s not particularly sure why, apart from the fear of losing these moments of time between them. Kara’s in control if she says no; if she says no, Laura has to come back.  
  


“I’m here to fall onto the gentle blade of your mercy.” Kara was drunk, and desperate, and pulled a kind of dumb almost curtsy before she could stop herself. 

Roslin was clearly tired, shoes kicked off under the desk, a tumbler in hand. Her glasses were on the edge of her nose, pen in hand. She looked up over the rim of them as Kara made an ass of herself, once again. “My mercy? What could you need my mercy for?”

“My father figure has kicked me off the Galactica. He told me I could ‘either become a human again or find somewhere else to live.’” Kara used an obviously mocking and very loose interpretation of Adama’s voice.

“And you chose Colonial One? You’ve never struck me as the type to enjoy a luxury liner.”

“Well, I figured you owed me one. And, of course, you’re the only person who’s not pissed at me right now.” 

“Owe you? For what?”

“For the arrow. For Cain. For all the other endless amounts of tasks you’ve assigned me that weren't entirely legit. You know.” 

“There’s not much in the way of bed space here you know - most of us sleep in our chairs.”

“Is there alcohol? As long as there's cards and drinks, a berth’s a berth.”

“Are you sure you need any more to drink?”

“I always need more to drink.”

The two of them had settled into Laura’s office. Kara was laid out on what had come to be Laura’s bed - she’d claimed it almost as soon as it became clear that Laura was going to let her stay. Laura was attempting to get back to work - to ignore Kara’s sighing, and shifting, and restless slurping of the drink Laura had given her.

“Cut my hair. Please.”

“Cut it? I’ve never cut hair before, why don’t you ask someone who’s an actual hairdresser-”

Kara pulled the knife from her boot with a kind of desperate, frenzied energy. “Please. Just hack it off. I’ll do it if I have to. I just need to - I need to feel like myself again. Like only myself.”

Laura looked at her for a long, hard minute. “Okay. Okay! I’m using scissors though - god, who raised you, a pack of wolves?”

Kara cracked a smirk. “Almost.”

There was an intimacy in the act of cutting someone’s hair. It required Roslin to get unexpectedly close to Kara - to get close enough to see all of Kara’s flaws and faults, all the tiny little imperfections in her skin. The smell of Kara’s hair had swam through Laura’s head, the slightly sour tang of the unwashed strands lingering in the back of her throat. Laura ran her hand through its unexpected length - she had noticed that it was longer, but she hadn’t realised quite how much it had grown. Laura played with the bottom, ran the dry and split ends through her fingers, mulled over the surprising fragility of the ratty ends. 

“How much do you want me to cut off?” 

“Here.” Kara guided Laura’s hand to a point just above the neck of where her dress uniform would sit. “How I used to have it, back when I was all me. Before.”

“Okay.” Laura hummed in thought. Without ceremony, she gathered Kara’s hair into a singular fist, twisted to give herself a clear landing path, and hacked through its tangles. 

Laura was left holding a fistful of Kara’s hair. “Oh, this is gonna be a nightmare for the cleaners…” She threw the hair onto her desk with a shrug and began attempting to even out the uneven chop. 

Laura worked in silence for a while. She ran her fingers through Kara’s hair, gently, as if it was precious. She attempted to give Kara the space to mourn. 

Kara sat mostly silently, to begin with, fidgeting with her hands and the glass she held. Eventually, almost as Laura was finishing up (giving up), she finally began to talk.

“He convinced me I had a daughter - that we had a daughter. And then she wasn’t mine, and I felt so frakking stupid...”

“Oh, Kara...”

“Don’t! Don’t, okay? I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anything, just a good drink and a decent frak every now and again.”

Laura cocked her head. “Well, that’s not entirely true. You do need my ‘mercy’.”

“Wow, you really do sniff out weakness. You know some of the cadets call you a shark? Blood in the water.”

Roslin rolled her eyes. “You really do go straight for the dramatic.”

“A lot of people are out to kill me. I think I’m allowed to be ‘dramatic.’ ” 

“There does seem to be a large target painted on your back.”

“It must be my incredibly pleasant personality, or something.”

“Or something.”

Laura moved in front of Kara, comparing the lengths of her hair. They were both quiet as Roslin ran her hands through Starbuck’s hair, Kara’s eyes never leaving hers, gazing up at her. Kara’s eyes were complicated. 

“Can you give me bangs?”

Whatever Roslin had been expecting her to say, it was not that. “Are you sure you should be deciding on a fringe when you’re drunk? I don’t think I’d be a very good president if I let my best fighter pilot get bangs while incapacitated.”

“Didn’t realise that was part of your job. What other services do you offer to your ‘best fighter pilot,’ Madame President?”

“Drink less and you’ll find out.”

Roslin made a decisive cut with the scissors. “That’s as much of a fringe as I’m giving you.” 

With an ironic lilt, Kara muttered, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“It’s Sir to you.” Laura pulled gently on Kara’s hair. “I’m afraid I don’t think I did a very good job.”

“As if. I’m sure you’ve never been anything less than perfect in your life.”

Roslin shook her head slowly. “You know, before all of this, I was just a teacher. My brief foray into political intrigue did not go well, and I thought being a teacher was about the best that I could do. The death of humanity let me carve out a different persona for myself. It forced me into a different personality, a different place in life.”

“Respectfully, _Sir,_ I think you always had it. Whatever drive it is that makes you able to carry on now. That ruthless part of you always existed; the situation just made you able to take advantage of it.”

“Mmm.” Laura hummed, moving away from Kara, leaving her hair on the floor where it had fallen.

“Do you always fish for compliments this blatantly? You know what I think of you.”

Laura just looked at Kara, her gaze heavy but steady. “And you know what I think of you. And yet. You always say no.”

“I don’t want to be just another frak, Sir. I don’t wanna be another notch on your bedpost, along with Tori, and Lee, and Adama. Even Billy, Gods rest his soul.”

“You know that’s not all you are.”

“Yeah, I’m also your special charity case. What an honour.”

Laura had moved back close to Kara. She towered over her, Kara’s head tipped back to look into her eyes, determinedly not looking at the cleavage that was on offer at her eyeline. Roslin took Kara’s chin in her hand, gently but purposefully. “I think you’re beautiful. And damaged. And I think that’s why I kept coming back, even though you kept saying no.”

Kara let that hang between them, her mouth opening slightly, tongue coming out to wet her lips. “You know I’m not the type for pretty declarations. That’s more Lee’s ballgame.”

“I don’t want Lee right now. I want you.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Madam President?”

Laura tipped Kara’s head back further, tightening her grip on her chin. “I thought I told you to call me Sir.”

“That you did… Laura.”

Roslin pushed Kara’s head away from her, leaving Kara laying back in the chair, eyes hooded and posture liquid. She had let herself be pushed. “You really don’t know how to take an order.”

“I’m sure you can show me.”

Laura shook her head, moving away from Kara. “Not tonight. Sleep it off. Go back to Adama in the morning.” She turned her back. “I’ll be out here if you need anything. Good night, Starbuck.”

Roslin left Kara sprawled on her couch, mouth open in surprise. She’d been sure they were finally gonna frak, and yet here she was, proverbial dick in her hand. If Roslin was trying to teach Kara to obey an order, maybe something’d finally stick.

Kara crawled back to Galactica and Adama in the morning, just like she’d been told. Nursing a particularly bad hangover, she had returned to duty as if nothing had happened, albeit slightly sheepishly.

As Kara entered the command room, she ducked her head to avoid Lee’s eyes, heading to the back row of seats. He let her go without saying anything, leaving her to sit through her hangover as he briefed the pilots. Predictably, he couldn’t just leave it alone, and caught her arm as she left.

“Where did you go last night?”

“I went for a walk. Cleared my head.”

“A walk? Where? Into space?” He scoffed. “Kara, you have to start telling me the truth, something is going on -”

“I was with Roslin, okay? I went to Colonial One. She talked some sense into me.”

“Did you two…”

“Did you?” Kara fired back, spitefully.

Lee opened and closed his mouth, finally letting go of her arm. “Okay, fine. Are you back, ready to fly?”

“I was born ready.” Kara smirked, feeling truly herself again, flexing her biceps a little. “You know I’m ready to feed it to those frakking tin cans.”

“Okay. Great. Have you talked to the old man?”

Kara huffed, rolling her eyes. “No. Did he ground me? If he didn’t officially ground me then there’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to fly.”

“He didn’t, but Kara… You really should talk to him. He’s worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, him and the rest of the fleet. I’m fine, Lee, okay? Nothing to worry about here.”

Lee continued to eye Kara suspiciously. Finally, he gave in. “Fine. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow for training, like usual.”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

The next time Kara lands in the flight deck after a practise run, Roslin is waiting for her. She’s holding two glasses and some classic Galactica moonshine.

“Good morning, Sir. Is that for me?”

Roslin handed Kara one of the already filled glasses. “It’s probably a little early to be drinking, but I thought we should celebrate.”

“Oh, really? What we celebrating?”

“I asked Chief to run the stats, and he tells me this was your thousandth successful landing on the flightdeck.”

“Well, cheers to that. Do I get any another presents?”

“I don’t know, Kara. If I ask you back to Colonial One, are you going to turn me down?”

Kara pretends to think about it, taking a long sip of her drink and then cocking her head to the side. “Hmmm. Maybe we should go back to my bunk instead. Show all the flyboys what they’re missing.”

Roslin seems to sway closer. In her heels she’s taller than Kara, and she leans down to speak directly into her ear. “I much prefer the illusion of privacy. Don’t you, Kara?”

Kara audibly swallowed. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir.”

“Come on. Let’s go.” Discreetly, Laura takes Kara’s hand, leading her from the deck.

Kara tugs on her hand, remembering she can’t just leave. “Wait, I have to – I have – debrief -”

“Kara. I’m the President. You don’t need a reason to leave.”

“… Okay, sure. Long live the Prez, huh?”

Before they reach the shuttle, they hear the Adama’s coming down the corridor towards them. Kara tugs Laura after her, pulling her into a storeroom. They can hear the talk of officers all throughout the ship, the hum of the vessel itself adding to the background of other people living their lives outside of this tiny room.

“- Kara stayed the night with President Roslin, if you can believe it. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but I think it’s better to know now than to find out later down the road.”

Kara snickered into Roslin’s ear, the two of them pressed tight against each other in the limited space around the storage boxes, the room completely dark. The only light came from the slats in the door, slashed across Kara’s eyes. Her voice was husky and low. “D’you hear that, Madame Prez? You’ve only gone and broken poor old Adama’s heart. All for a quick frak in your office that hasn’t even happened yet.”

“Oh, Kara. Shut the hell up.” Roslin kissed Kara hard, shoving her against the boxes they were propped against. Laura moved a hand into Kara’s hair, keeping her head where she wanted it with a tight grip. “Never talk about William to me again, do you understand me? Tell me you understand me.”

“Yes.”

“Say, ‘Yes, I understand, Sir.’ ”

Kara glared at Roslin in the low light. “Yes, I understand, _Sir._ ”

“I don’t like that tone.”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Roslin groaned into Kara’s mouth, pulling away to lean against the door. “Why do you have to make everything so hard? Can this not be a fight for five frakking seconds?”

“I know one thing we can do where neither of us has to talk.” Kara leant in and kissed her again, this time slower, taking her time.

Roslin spun them so that Kara’s back was against the door instead of her own. She pushed a thigh between Kara’s, one of her hands holding Kara against the door by pushing against her abs. “Will you do what I say, without an argument? You want to, we both know you do.”

“I do. I do want to.” Kara breathed into Roslin’s mouth, groaning as Roslin took Kara’s hands and held them above her head.

“I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“Yes. Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> so this the most mature rated thing ive ever written cant believe im just out here exposing myself like this on the internet jesus. im blaming the entire concept of laura roslin and nothing else


End file.
